


Free

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-28
Updated: 2009-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I always feel like I'm suffocating on my own, like the walls are too close, the air stagnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free

**Author's Note:**

> An exercise in clarity. Take it, leave it... let it mend or let it be.  
> Prompt[s]: "I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary." From Variations of the word Sleep by Margaret Atwood  
> Beta Readers: ventorous01, kawaiikyo, witheringwhite  
> Song[s]: "Roads" by Portishead

Kyo POV

The air drifts by, the coming dawn announced in all the little pieces of nature; the sounds of the birds, the end of the crickets. A flutter of wings and the quiet creep of wood as the tree branches sway in the wind. Even as I lay here, feeling more lifeless than I ever have in my entire lifetime, the world moves on.

The radio sings a sad melody, an underlying buzz to it that I pick up better than the rest of it, my hearing slightly off. My chest rises and falls, a steady rhythm that I wish only too hard would simply pause and fall away into nothing. I wait on it, listening to the drip of liquid from another room - a steady ache of something else entirely separate from myself.

The world hazes just the slightest and I blink it back into the same fuzzy carelessness that it was to start with. It's dull here, cabinets all of the same dingy, fading yellow. The floor nothing but wooden planks, old and tired of being tread upon from too many years of the abuse of feet. Worn... tired... just like me.

Darkness for a moment and then a brighter light when I care to allow it in again. So much about me aches. My bones hurt... or maybe it just feels like it. Even as I trail my fingers over the crisp cream-colored linens, I understand the pain of every fiber. They hurt because of my very presence. Exaggeration... I ache because of my own presence, so I put it off on them to rid it from inside.

The room is cold, my breath coming out in a white cloud. My joints are frozen in place from the hours I've spent here... alone... thinking. Alone because you are not here. Thinking... because you are not here. It's always like this for me.

My senses eat at me. I feel the prick of numbness fading from my limbs. A finger twitches and then another. My eyes stare blindly at the brittle lace curtains as they blow in the breeze from the cracked windowpane. It rustles in the wind, calling to me with its presence. But I don't respond, my body motionless except my eyes and the slight twitch of my fingertips. I wanted to be numb, I asked for it to be like this... pleading with the gods for it to happen.

A moth batters at the broken glass, wings dusting powdery white across the beams of light. Trapped outside while I lay here, trapped inside... inside this place and inside my own head. One I can take care of myself, the other chokes me like the fingers of Death itself, cold and angry around my neck.

My lips part, breath coming faster. The prickling in my fingers increases, adrenaline flowing through my veins as my eyes narrow on the moth. Air slips into my lungs and then falls back out again. It does the same for the tiny creature's body. Necessary... noticed by only those who pause to care.

Words slip in and out of my mind, following the same path as the feelings in my nerves. I feel both alive and dead in the very same moment. Time has no bearing on the weight of this world that I find myself deep within. Undeniable pain settles deep inside me, the ache greater than life itself. The knowledge does not bring the peace that it maybe should.

The faint smell of your cologne drifts through the air, tickling my nose. My eyes slip away from the moth, my head turning to look at the old wooden door. There's a hole where the doorknob should be. It hangs from a single hinge. The breeze picks up and it creaks, sounding like the dying gasps of an old man.

Footsteps then, the floorboards creaking under the weight of another... the way they sounded last night when I tread the same ground. The sound of another breathing in, the gentle rasp of the air leaving strong lungs. A faint undertone of tobacco is on the air, hanging thick like a recently smoked cigarette. Moisture in the atmosphere that wasn't there a moment before - I can taste it.

The song comes in stronger on the radio, the signal taking a liking to your body. I feel drawn... compelled. And yet, I only wait. The world crushes down on top of me, rendering me immobile... voiceless. My breath wants to cry for you, to ask you to come... to help. My mind quietly shifts, drawing back in from everything on the outside.

And when you push open that door and step into the room, it's like breathing fresh air after being locked away inside for far too long. I always feel like I'm suffocating on my own, like the walls are too close, the air stagnant. But with you here, I feel... free.

**Fin**  



End file.
